Final Notice, page 3
“Sounds like us!” she quipped. And they both laughed.
But Trudi, putting some groceries away, continued. “What made you think about Dave, Barb and Facebook?”
“I don’t know. Just thinking about them and as busy as they are, I hate to bother them with calls.” Vince drained his now cold coffee, bringing the cup to the sink. “Just a way to keep in touch, casually. It was Dave’s idea.” Vince felt vaguely guilty and transparent using their son as a pretense for getting a new computer, but there was an element of truth about keeping in touch.
Folding the now empty bag and putting it near the back door, Trudi said, “OK. I have to go into town tomorrow and there’s an Apple store right next to Payless Shoes, where I’m going. We can go together.”
“I hadn’t thought about a Mac. Am I too old to start all over?”
Trudi scoffed. “Too old? Remember, 70 is the new 50. And you were a computer wizard at work. They can’t be that different. Even I know that they can connect with each other.”
“And how do you know that, Ms. Gates?” he smiled.
Trudi, hands on hips, “C’mon, Vince. Seriously. Everyone I’ve ever known who has switched to a Mac loves it.”
Vince chuckled. “Sure, I’ll come along and look at the Macs. I have to admit, I’m intrigued by their reputation and loyal following.”
“Great. Let me get going on fixing lunch.” Trudi was the main cook in the house, but Vince served as sous-chef and chief bottle washer. He also had a number of specialties that he liked to try out on Trudi. She appreciated the effort and even if some of his experiments didn’t succeed, she kept her mouth shut and said, “Yummm.” She wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Vince smiled, “OK. And I’ll get dressed.”
* * *
Green Valley, Arizona. Stan Mason had been going through his father’s sparse collection of possessions at the Lazy Pines Home apartment. As the police had already advised him, the guns weren’t there; they would be held until all forensic tests had been completed. There was, however, a copy of the receipt for the guns, clips and ammunition from the Crosshairs Gun Show in Tucson: Two used Glock-19, 9mm handguns with ten-round clips (one at $350 and the other at $300). Two fifteen-round 9mm clips. One box of fifty 9mm shells. An NRA Senior Citizen discount of 20% had been applied to the guns.
Even if someone had been there for him to talk with, he’d be speechless. The same disbelief and confusion he’d gone through when he first received the phone call from the police, flooded his brain. Why two guns? Why one gun? And why extra clips? Coupled with the fact that these all played a role in a heinous mass killing, 17 days after he purchased them, made it more than a coincidence.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Thankful for even the smallest diversion from the dark thoughts bouncing around his head, he opened the door to a waiting Inspector Zack Dallas from Tucson Homicide.
“Stan Mason?”
“Yes,” he said, almost happily, because it was one thing he was sure of. Actually, it was the only thing he was sure of at the moment, as he looked at the tall, well-built, African-American man.
“Inspector Dallas from Tucson Homicide. Thanks for making the trek to Green Valley and talking with me.”
“Of course.” Stan realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken with someone from the police. Stan, being white, thought about the large number of recent news articles about police killings, usually white police and black men, making him a bit uncomfortable; but Inspector Dallas had a calm and almost friendly demeanor, helping to put Stan at ease.
“Have you found anything of interest or out of the ordinary?” Inspector Dallas asked. He had a soothing, almost Morgan Freeman kind of voice.
“I’m still in shock looking at the receipt for the guns. Dad told me he was going to a gun show, but I thought it was just to have something to do. He never had anything to do with guns when I was growing up. He was in the Army but that was before I was born, and he never talked about it.”
Inspector Dallas jotted a note on a small notepad. “Did he ever say anything about anyone here?”
“Not really. Nothing specific. I know he wasn’t happy here and he hadn’t made any friends, but he didn’t think anyone else was happy here either. That all of them were sent here to die.”
Inspector Dallas jotted another note and added, “The staff and residents have all said that he was a loner and didn’t have friends. Nobody really knew him. They would only see him for meals. Seems like he ate alone, although some people tried to engage with him. He pushed them away and refused to join in.”
Stan asked, “Did you find out anything that might help explain what triggered this?”
“Nothing whatsoever. We were hoping you knew something. The only aspect of this case that has any degree of logic, is the timing of the gun purchase and the shooting. Do you think there could be a link?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering, did he want to buy a gun with a thought in mind or did something happen after he purchased the guns?”
“That’s a good question. You’re sure there’s nothing he said the last time you spoke?”
“There was nothing. But maybe I wasn’t listening as well as I should,” Stan said guiltily. There were many times when he spoke with his father that his mind drifted, especially when his father complained. Pangs of regret welled up.
“And is there anything else in his possessions that surprised you or was unexpected?”
“An iPhone and a sport watch. I’m surprised my dad would have an iPhone, but a sport watch for someone in a wheelchair seems really odd … ”
Inspector Dallas jotted again and said, “We looked at the phone, but it doesn’t seem like there were any calls except for that one from you. Email hadn’t even been set up.”
“No. My dad wasn’t a techie. So, what’s next, Inspector?”
“As far as we’re concerned, it’s an open and shut case. More than a dozen witnesses identified your father as the lone shooter and the guns were his. We don’t have a motive, but we really don’t need one to close the file. So, you’re free to take or dispose of his possessions. Here’s a Tucson Police receipt for the guns. We’ll let you know when we can release them.”
“I don’t want them. What can I do with them?”
“You live in California. Hmm. Not sure about the legality of these or if you can sell them there. Think about what you want to do with them – you know, sell them or keep them – and in the meantime, I’ll ask around the department and see if anyone might be interested. Your dad got them for a good price, so unless you want to make a good profit, they’re a bargain at what he paid.”
“So, I’m not liable for anything – you know, for the people who were killed? I mean, I’ve never felt so awful in my whole life.”
“Unless you were legally your father’s guardian, I don’t think you can be held responsible. If anyone other than your father is responsible, it would be Lazy Pines and perhaps the people who sold the guns to your father.”
“Hmm. OK. Thanks, Inspector.”
“Here’s my card and direct line. Thank you and please get in touch if you think of anything else. I’m really sorry, Mr. Mason. And if we find out anything else, we’ll be sure to let you know.”
* * *
CHAPTER 3 – INTO THE UNKNOWN
Pasadena, California. Vince was actually pretty jazzed about seeing the Apple store. For years he had heard about Apple and its loyal legions of followers. He always had the feeling that Mac users looked down a bit at people who used Windows ... like we used tin cans and strings or calculators. Well, he was about to find out what, if anything, was behind the smugness.
Wishing Trudi luck with her shoe shopping, he split off and entered the Apple store. Despite the early hour it was already pretty busy. He was met by a techie-looking greeter armed with an iPad and headset, who asked him the reason for his visit.
“I’m looking for a new computer,” Vince replied, trying to sound confident but not too interested.
“OK. Desktop or laptop?”
“Laptop.”
“What’s your name?”
“Vince Fuller.”
“OK, Vince. Shouldn’t be long. The laptops are over here. Have a browse and there’s also a video showing the various models and their features. We’ll have someone with you in a moment.”
“Thanks.” Vince went to one of the tables with laptops and began looking them over.
Within an hour, a rather surprised Vince walked out carrying a large plastic Apple bag containing a brand-new MacBook Pro. If you’d asked him before going in, he would have told you there wasn’t a chance he would switch to a Mac after all these years in Microsoft’s clutches; but Kevin, the young guy helping him, made it seem so simple and convinced Vince to opt for the Microsoft Office for Mac package, as he was used to the Microsoft software. Vince did resist the suggestion to upgrade his iPhone, proving to himself, if no one else, that he wasn’t a pushover.
Checking in on Trudi at the shoe store, Vince found her still trying on different pairs, so they agreed to meet at Starbucks a few stores down the street. As he walked through Starbucks to the counter, carrying the familiar plastic Apple logo’d bag, Vince thought he caught a few looks of approval from the mostly younger crowd, typing away at their mostly Apple keyboards.
After ordering and receiving his coffee – a tall, dark roast – Vince found an open table. Proudly unpacking his new laptop, he thought about his experience at Apple. How did he buy that laptop so easily? Was Kevin a great salesman? He did explain things well and asked questions and wasn’t at all smug when Vince told him about his singular Windows’ experience. That was part of it. Kevin wasn’t at all disdainful of Vince’s age and lack of knowledge, as evidenced by Vince’s questions. He had sometimes felt a dismissive attitude in a lot of other, younger people he dealt with, and he had to admit, it was hurtful and added to the burden of growing old. Irrelevance was painful. Not physically, as in his parking lot experience, but hurtful, nonetheless.
Vince’s laptop started up as quickly for him as it had for Kevin. He now had an icloud.com email address, but nobody except him and Apple knew that, and he was more interested in surfing than corresponding. So, he postponed the uncertain task of setting up his current g-mail account on his Mac. Besides, since he retired, he rarely got anything other than political mail, begging for money. Clicking on Safari, Vince stepped into the unknown; and as the internet can do, he began to realize, more than ever, how much he didn’t know and how much he’d like to know. At the moment, the most burning questions on his mind stemmed from his conversation with Trudi ... about guns.
Vince typed in, “What is the cost range of a handgun?” Almost instantly, the screen blinked, and he was looking at a screen showing the first dozen or so of “About 674,000 results (.84 seconds).” He paused to think about what just happened. He had used the internet at work, but it was generally for very specific searches, like typing in a known company’s website address. He had never really done broad searches, or surfed, as they called it. There was a site called Cabelas that looked hopeful, and it was – listing 113 handguns ranging from $169.99 to $4,499.88. He doubted many seniors bought $5,000 guns, even with a discount, but how prevalent was senior citizen gun ownership? He typed into the Safari search box, “How many people over 65 have a gun?” and was rewarded with “About 179 million results (.55 seconds).” He clicked on the first listing, “Gun Ownership And The Elderly: People Over 65 Have Highest Rates Of Ownership And Dementia,” published in Medical Daily.com. I wonder if defense lawyers have used this, he mused: “My client doesn’t remember killing him.” Maybe that guy in Arizona had dementia and wouldn’t remember killing those six people? We’ll never know.
Vince began reading the article. “What many people do not know is that people over the age of 65 have the highest rate of firearm ownership in the nation ... yet they also have a high prevalence of dementia, depression, and suicide, as well. Clearly, on the wrong day, this combination of odd factors could potentially lead to a lethal situation and for this reason, gun safety among the elderly is a pressing, if unnoticed, issue.”
Surely, that is a possibility in the retirement home shooting, Vince thought, thinking at the same time that the NRA was hoping it stayed unnoticed.
“I see you’ve fitted into the coffeehouse scene quickly. Sipping lattes and surfing on your Apple,” said Trudi, as she dropped a couple of large bags onto the floor next to Vince’s table.
“Hi. And it looks like you were successful after all,” Vince replied, closing his laptop.
“Yes. And I found some new trainers to replace my aging Nikes.”
“Good. Do you want a coffee, or would you rather go home?”
“A coffee would be nice. Thanks.”
Vince returned with her coffee, “Here ya go.”
“Thank you, sir,” Trudi replied formally. “So, are you having fun with your new toy?”
“I am. It’s very easy to use and very fast. No time to lose your train of thought like I did with the old laptop, while it ground away with its processing.”
“What have you been surfing, and please don’t tell me porn?” Vince laughed.
“Not yet! But I did learn that people over the age of 65 have the most guns … and dementia. So that guy’s comments on TV about older people buying guns seem to be accurate.”
“Still, that’s surprising. Not the dementia part.”
“I was wondering if that guy who killed those people in Arizona might have had dementia. The article I read mentioned depression and suicide, as well.”
“Could be, but it seems like shooters never just get wounded, so we can’t find out what they were thinking.”
***
That evening Vince and Trudi sat down with the laptop and Vince showed Trudi the speed of surfing with their new machine. She took to it like a duck to water and loved it. The world was at her agile fingertips.
Their first “just out of curiosity” search – for shootings by senior citizens – didn’t yield much fruit, but they learned a lot about guns:
Over 13,000 people had been killed in the United States during the past year in gun homicides and unintentional shootings, excluding suicides.
36 Americans were killed each day by gunshots, excluding suicides.
Over 50,000 gun-incidents were reported last year. There were 20,000 suicides with guns last year.
Over the past 10 years, 71 Americans have been killed by terrorism versus 302,000 by gun violence.
And the trend was definitely upwards.
“We really are out of touch,” said Vince, shaking his head. “Do we even know anyone who has been shot, or know anyone who knows someone who has?”
“I don’t.”
“Do any of your friends have guns?” Vince asked.
“Not that I know of. The Martins might. But he hunts, doesn’t he?”
“I think so. And Rueben Martinez is an ex-cop. He probably has a gun.”
“You’re not really thinking we should get a gun?”
“I don’t know. For protection, maybe. In case someone tries to burgle our house and we’re here.” He briefly thought about the guy in the parking lot.
Trudi scoffed. “And what, shoot them? We’d have to be pretty lucky for that to happen.”
“Pretty lucky to have burglars?”
“No. Be in a lucky situation where they didn’t have a gun and we had a real easy shot. Even then, I’m not sure you can just shoot someone if they’re not armed.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Vince. “Type in, ‘Can we shoot an intruder in our own home in California?’ ”
And sure enough, in 1.24 seconds, Trudi had 1,620,000 results. “Here it is. California law protects us if we shoot a burglar in our home. Still, it wouldn’t help if we didn’t hear them until they burst into the room. I can’t see either one of us having the presence of mind to reach for the gun, roll out of bed and blast away. What are you smiling at?”
“At the image of you doing just that!”
“Hey. I’ve been watching Angelina Jolie and I think I can manage the moves.”
“Enough about guns for today. Let’s go watch the news and see what my bearded buddy, Blitzer, has for us.”
“OK, as long as it’s not another shooting!”
* * *
CHAPTER 4 - VITALTECH
Quincy, Massachusetts. Vijay Patel was one of those people who might be described by others as someone whose brain is too big for their head. He came to the USA from Mumbai, India, to study advanced mathematics at MIT. As he was completing his PhD in Spectral Graph Theory, Numerical Linear Algebra and Machine Learning, he became interested in medicine and enrolled at Harvard Medical School. Upon graduation, “Dr. Dr. Patel”, as he could legitimately be called, entered the field of Internal Medicine. And for most people that would be more than enough.
